


Reduce Speed During Wet Conditions

by LaughableLament



Series: Tumblr Tidbits [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Impala Sex, M/M, Prose Poem, Supernatural Poetry Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 05:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15333276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: traffic jam + thunderstorm = road head





	Reduce Speed During Wet Conditions

I-24 outside of Nashville. Sunday, holiday, storms.

“Some sky.” Sam snaps a picture.

Flat-bottomed thunderhead ahead. Layer cake in blue-white-gray. Near-black water wall.

Five miles on, pop-up dumps buckets. Shit visibility, cacophony. Cassette, AC/DC, a/c, engine. Rain rain rain. MPH 10, top-end. Hemmed in.

Dean fumes, “See?” Wheel massage. “This shit’s why I hate Interstates!”

Sam hmphs. “Take your dick out.”

Fish-face.

“One. We’re not going anywhere; two, no one can see anything. Three… tell me road head’s not on your bucket list.”

Dean unzips!

Slips. Spreads legs, tilts hips.

Sam makes like one of them paper cranes. Contorts. Knee in the floorboard, sockfoot window and _oh, my, god,_ slick, hot, lips. Shiver of teeth and tongue, throat. Flex. Long hair tickles, heretic halo. Dean fingers jeans seam. Traces, tracks between his cheeks. Taps taint. Sam grunts. Vibration on suction.

Pale knuckles, stone thighs, brake lights. “Sammy, I gotta move.”

Nod knocks Dean’s cockhead into molars.

Inhale-through-teeth. “Not, that kinda move, I gotta drive!” He yells. Sam swallows him, all of him. Thumb at his root, coaxes his come out. Toes curl; eyes twitch. Dean barely holds the road.

Rain eases.

Sam dabs dainty at his mouth.

He can drive. He can drive.

About this time, every time, he remembers, this ain’t Nashville. That ain’t—

“Some sky.” Sam snaps his picture.

Déjà vu leaks through, sometimes.

Pop-up dumps buckets.

“Take your dick out.”

Doesn’t he usually bitch about Interstates?

Sam hmphs.

How’s there a usually?

“I remember this.”

Wait, he— “You. What?”

“Nashville!” Sam laughs. “Tell me road head’s not on your bucket list.” Gasps. “Dean. You look. So, young.”

“You should talk, Jonathan Taylor Thomas.”

“Yeah. Pretty sure he’s older than me.”

Dean flips the tape. “What took you so long anyway? You live to a ripe old age like I told—?”

“You don’t remember.”

Hemmed in. MPH 10, top-end. Shit visibility, cacophony.

“Dude. It’s been eight minutes.”

Rain rain rain.

Sam makes like one of them paper cranes. “Y’know… We’re not going anywhere…”

Dean unzips. Slips, tilted hips. Kiss… kiss… Lick that smug grin off his lips. “Hey.” Breathless. “You good?”

Nod, “You?”

“Pretty well set for a dead guy,” Dean says.

Sam rolls eyes.

Rain eases.

“Where to now?”

Shrug.

Traffic clears.

“Just drive.” Sam dives.

Dean hits it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from [Supernatural Poetry Challenge](http://supernaturalpoetrychallenge.tumblr.com/)  
> Partner: @[burningwicker](http://burningwicker.tumblr.com/)  
> Prompt: Heaven


End file.
